


i bloom just for you.

by 95liners



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Atsumu doesn’t actually appear much, Best friends Shiragoshi, Hanahaki Disease, Healthy Familial Relationships, Komori is a great cousin, M/M, Multi, Past one—sided Shiragoshi, Polyamory, Tags in the authors notes, Vomiting, sakusa-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/95liners/pseuds/95liners
Summary: It’s in the middle of the night when Sakusa wakes up wheezing, coughing and spluttering into his hands, muscles spasming with the effort to breathe. It’s over in a matter of seconds, leaving him boneless and exhausted, and clutching a single petal in his hands.Sakusa Kiyoomi never thought his lungs would soon birth the evidence of his failures, but Miya Atsumu is relentless and Sakusa is the one who suffers for it.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Goshiki Tsutomu/Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi & Goshiki Tsutomu, Sakusa Kiyoomi & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shirabu Kenjirou/Goshiki Tsutomu (Unrequited)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 353





	i bloom just for you.

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings — vomiting, blood, hanahaki
> 
> UH HI HAVE FUN WITH THIS

He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his own skin.

Muted music and cheers thump outside of the bathroom Sakusa’s hidden himself in, fingers scrabbling at the _dirtydirtydirty_ sink in front of him. His chest aches from how ragged his breathing is, nausea roiling in his stomach and twisting himself inside out. Sakusa knows he looks like a mess, he can see it in his pallid skin, the sweat beading at his brow, the red tinge to his lips that he has to pass off as _fucking_ tint. 

Another cough wracks his entire body, the male hunching over as he fights to breathe. Blood splatters against white porcelain and a hand flies to his mouth, containing what Sakusa tries so hard to forget about, to deny.

When he can finally drag fresh air down his battered throat, into his failing lungs, Sakusa pulls his hand away and stares back at his reflection. Pathetic, with red speckling his chin and tears wetting his lashes.

A petal flutters in the air, before slowly settling inside the sink.

* * *

Sakusa remembers clearly the day he first felt the stirring of a cough, immediately cursing his teammates – he _knew_ Hinata hadn’t had his flu shot, he knew the other had gotten sick. Snapping a mask over his face once more, slipping the thin, latex gloves on, Sakusa feels more at ease now that he’s protected from the outside world, from Hinata’s apologies amongst sniffles and coughs.

“Yer alright, Omi-Omi?” Sakusa immediately tenses as Atsumu sidles up besides him, keeping his distance enough to keep the panic at bay. “Ya lookin’ paler tha’ normal.”

“Leave me alone, Miya,” Sakusa grumbles, pulling on his jacket and locking his locker. The practice ended an hour ago, so why is he still here? Despite showering first, Sakusa’s one of the last left – only him and Miya Atsumu now. 

“S’it ‘cause Shouyou’s sick? He thinks it’s just a head cold, if that helps.” Sakusa hears the shrug in Atsumu’s tone, ignoring him out of the corner of his eyes. Why is he still here? Huffing softly, Sakusa slings his bag onto his back and turns on his heel to leave.

“I told him to get his flu shot, he told me he did— hey!” The strap on his bag jolts him back, Sakusa’s entire frame slipping before catching his footing. Turning around to give Miya Atsumu a piece of his mind, he’s left with the sight of the other grinning rakishly at him, shirt still wrapped around his arms, one hand clutching his bag strap.

“Yer just so irresistible, he wanted ta impress ya.” The teasing is laced with every word that leaves the setter’s lips, Sakusa’s own curling into a grimace as he yanks his bag back.

“Not everyone is as pathetic as you, Miya. Now, excuse me. I want to go home.”

_(The drive home is filled with the niggling itch in his chest, the threats of a cough building in the back of Sakusa’s throat. He will kill Hinata Shouyou when he gets better)_

Unlocking the door, Sakusa finally steps from the world into his own, clean, oasis. His apartment is neat and tidy, as expected, and quiet, as expected – one, single ZZ plant sits by the window and waves softly in the wind from the open window. Sakusa’s owned it for years, and it’s his only child – Wakatoshi had given it to him one day, after Nationals. As a gift.

Sakusa may be over that innocent crush now, but the thought still makes his chest tighten in a warm, comforting way.

Not the way it’s currently tightening, leaving Sakusa breathless as he toes off his shoes and makes his way to the bathroom to have a shower. Immediately, worries from the common cold to worse diagnoses flicker through the male’s head, clearing his throat a few times to try and alleviate the feeling.

 _Fucking Hinata,_ Sakusa curses once more, stepping under the spray of the too-hot shower and letting the day wash off his body, leaving him fresh and clean.

  
It’s in the middle of the night when Sakusa wakes up wheezing, coughing and spluttering into his hands, muscles spasming with the effort to breathe. It’s over in a matter of seconds, leaving him boneless and exhausted, and clutching a single petal in his hands.

  
 _Hanahaki disease._ Sakusa stares down in disgust at his phone, holed up against his window next to his plant – Ena simply stares blankly at him, and Sakusa curses himself once more for applying sentience to his plant. Sakusa remembers the fear gripping his chest when he saw the petal in his hands, immediately pushing it away as if he could deny the truth, deny what was happening.

 _Nonononononononono_ — Sakusa cuts off his panic with a pinch to his side, sinking against his window and letting his phone slip onto the ledge next to him. Fuck, Sakusa didn’t think he’d ever be in this situation. He’s heard of people with Hanahaki disease before, how they suffer and suffer until it ends.

Be it with happiness, emptiness or death.

And the saddest thing, Sakusa realises as he curls further in on himself, reaching out with a shaking hand to grab Ena and pull it closer, is that he knows exactly who caused this in him.

* * *

“Miya! Leave Sakusa alone!” Meian’s voice echoes across the gym after practice, the offender immediately freezing in his steps next to Sakusa. Sakusa mentally thanks his captain as he hurries off, taking the opening of Atsumu whining and apologising to escape to the showers. He felt better today, no uncomfortable tightness hitting during practice, only for it to all come at once as soon as he’s under the warm spray of the shower. 

Gasping for a second to catch his breath, Sakusa presses his closed fist to his forehead, biting back a soft whine at the twisting in his stomach. Faint nausea settles where it hadn’t before, a warning in the back of Sakusa’s mind. He can only hope this won’t progress as fast as some cases do; Sakusa needs the time to process, to decide what he’ll do.

To come to terms with the fact that he could die.

The realisation takes him off guard, enough so that the next cough almost throws Sakusa off his feet in the stall. Crouching down to contain the wracking coughs, Sakusa finally feels the petals escape from his body and sink down with the onslaught of water. It’s more than one now, around ten, and they’re a dazzling shade of gold. Sakusa can’t place what type of flowers he’s coughing up yet, with just the few petals, but he doesn’t really care about what’s killing him when there’s a slap to the outside of the cubicle, and a worried “Sakusa?” 

“Alright!” Sakusa calls back, ignoring the clear concern in Meian Shugo’s voice as he hurriedly swipes the petals into a bunch and tries to push them down the drain. 

_I’m sorry, plumbers, but it must be done._

Following a quick wash and then shutting the shower off, Sakusa’s quick to dry off and get dressed before stepping out, ignoring Meian’s concerned gaze and pushing past into the locker room.

_He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine—_

“Omi-Omi!” Sakusa walks faster, opening his locker and grabbing his bag, but he’s not fast enough to escape Atsumu sidling up besides him. “What, yer ignorin’ me now?”

“I want to go home,” Sakusa mutters, shutting his locker with a sharp slam! and moving around Atsumu to the exit. He can feel everyone staring at him, not used to Sakusa not snapping at Atsumu and causing a fight.

“Omi-san, are you alright?” Bokuto’s voice carries outside as Sakusa hurries out of the gym, pulling his jacket around his body and slipping his mask on. He knows he’d be taking public transport home today, anxiety already thrumming underneath his skin and setting his nerves alight, but anything to get away from him.

* * *

It progresses slowly. Sakusa doesn’t cough much over the next days, bringing up only a few petals at a time. It’s a sickening sort of relief, that it’s not awful yet, but Sakusa knows what his future entails. He knows that he could either be left loveless, the emotion slowly bleeding from him until he’s a husk of his former self, or he could be dead by his own desires. Only two options, because Sakusa refuses to entertain the third, entertain what could be if he was desirable, if he was able to be loved.

_(“Kiyoomi, you’ve always been loved,” Motoya used to whisper to him, when Sakusa was at his worst. When his best friend — his cousin, because of course only his family could ever love him enough to be his friend — would find him shaking and know it was a bad day, when he loved him for all the people who didn’t. Why couldn’t Sakusa believe him anymore?)_

The days go by in a blur, the team practicing for an upcoming game against the Schweiden Adlers in a few months and generally just keeping in top form. Atsumu’s loud, Bokuto and Hinata are louder, Meian looks like he ages every day, Adriah and Oliver laugh at Sakusa’s expressions and Inunaki …

It’s Inunaki Shion who sits down next to him during one break, keeping a respectable distance and lifting his hands in surrender at Sakusa’s deadly glare.

“Sorry, sorry, princess,” Inunaki begins, laughing softly as Sakusa’s expression darkens even further, “it’s just … are you okay?”

If Inunaki says anything else, it’s lost on Sakusa as his hearing slowly turns to static, muffling the words he can see leaving Inunaki’s lips. He can only just keep his gaze on the Libero, but Sakusa knows he must look vacant at this point. Still … someone’s noticing.

Someone’s noticing, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“… someone say something to you?” Inunaki finally trails off, the older male clearly worried for him. The sight sickens Sakusa, as does the sudden tightening in his chest. It’s faster than usual, feeling more like he’s about to be sick rather than have a coughing fit, and all Sakusa can do is shoot up from the bench and sprint to the bathrooms before he’s collapsing in front of a _dirtydirtydirty_ toilet, coughing and heaving bile and petals mixed in together. Shaking hands hold him off from collapsing against the rim, managing to save himself at least that much. There’s a clambering behind him, but Sakusa manages to close and lock the door before someone can kick it in and see him.

See the evidence of his failures.

“Sakusa! Sakusa, are you okay?” It’s the steady voice of Adriah this time, the second oldest of the team, and it’s enough to bring tears to Sakusa’s eyes. Still, he manages to push himself to his feet and flush the toilet, coughing again to dislodge anything else in his throat, before pushing the door open.

“Yeah …” Sakusa croaks out, ignoring Adriah’s shocked expression at how awful he sounds, how awful he must look – Sakusa catches a glimpse in the mirrors on the wall and it’s horrifying. His lips are slick and pale, and his skin is ashy and clammy. His eyes are red from tearing up, and it’s obvious that Sakusa’s still shaken from how his chest trembles with every breath. Wiping his forearm against his mouth to clean the slick, Sakusa scrubs his other hand over his eyes and desperately ignores how Adriah closes in on him.

“You look really sick, Sakusa,” Adriah murmurs, one hand hovering in the air before finally flopping back down to his side – Sakusa could tell he wants to comfort him, to at least touch him and make sure he was still put together, but he couldn’t bring himself to potentially set Sakusa off. The thought is comforting, at least.

“Just — just nerves.” The excuse falls so flat, it was Hinata Shouyou, but Adriah nods nonetheless and points to the door. 

“You’re going home, Sakusa.” Sakusa lets himself be guided out of the bathroom and into the locker room, Adriah immediately opening his unlocked locker and pulling his bag out. “Do you need help getting home? Are you able to go straight home and shower? It’d be better than here.”

His nods are automatic as he takes the bag, slowly stripping off his uniform and changing into his clothes he wore coming here – it wasn’t too dirty, and better than messing up his clean clothes inside the bag. Adriah continues to watch nervously as Sakusa finally finishes, black curls a mess atop his head, hanging down pathetically.

“Go home, get some rest. Call someone if it gets worse, okay?” Sakusa nods once more, staring down at the ground as he finally leaves the locker and trudges out of the gym. There’s concerned shouts and Adriah’s quiet words talking to the captain and the coach, but Sakusa hears none of it.

All he hears is the blood thumping in his ears, the flower petals slowly taking root in his lungs.

* * *

 **Motoya** : _kiyo_  
 _tell me why im getting texts from miya atsumu about you getting sick in the middle of practice_  
 _kiyo_  
 _KIYO_  
 **Kiyoomi** : _Motoya._  
 _I’m fine, don’t worry._  
 **Motoya** : _bullshit_  
 _do you rly think i believe that when miya’s texts were freaking out_  
 _i’m coming over_  
 **Kiyoomi** : _DON’T YOU DARE._

Komori Motoya never listens, and Sakusa is well aware of that when his door is pushed open an hour later and Komori bursts in with all the confidence of an asshole, dropping his bags down and zeroing in on his poor, sick cousin curled up next to Ena. 

“Kiyo!” Komori stops short of tugging Sakusa into a hug — one of the few people who’s allowed to touch him without permission, within reason of course, and it speaks volumes of Sakusa’s appearance that he’s not pulling him into a certified Komori Motoya hug. “You … okay. How do you feel?”

“I feel alright, so you can go now,” Sakusa grumbles as he cuddles Ena closer, swallowing down some more bile and pretending his chest isn’t trying to break free from the confines of his body. Komori’s gaze is critical, and Sakura feels that for a second, his cousin can see the vines inside of his lungs, the love poisoning him further until he’s nothing more than a memory. Intangible, not of this Earth — it’s thoughts like that that sends fear through Sakusa’s system, subconsciously whining softly. 

“You’re not alright, K’yoomi, so stop lying to me and let me help.” Komori moves closer to Sakusa, slow and steady like Sakusa’s a wild animal, like he’s going to pounce any second. It’s unsettling to see his cousin so cautious of him, not like usual when Komori has no qualms about dragging Sakusa all across Tokyo.

“Get out if you’re gonna act like I’m about to kill you,” Sakusa huffs as Komori settles down next to him, snagging the throw blanket that’s hanging over the arm of the couch and draping it over them both. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that, right?”

“And you’re really sick,” is all Komori replies with. 

Sakusa feels the urge to respond, to defend himself, but all that comes out is a harsh cough that sends him into a fit, chest spasming as he gasps for air. Coughs turn into heaves and Sakusa’s immediately throwing the blanket off and running to the bathroom, hearing a faint crash that muddles into nothing as he’s collapsing in front of the toilet and throwing up everything he’d digested that day. Tears stream down his cheeks as his stomach cramps and twists, lungs burning ferociously, and Sakusa feels it finally tapering off when petals gush from his mouth and down into the toilet, bright red and mocking.

The toilet rim feels cool against his sweaty forehead, his need for comfort temporarily overriding his need for cleanliness, and it’s only when there’s a hushed _“oh, kiyoomi,”_ by his side that Sakusa finally registers the soft hand on his back, or the presence of Komori to his left.

“Why didn’t you tell me, K’yoomi?” Komori’s tone twists and scrapes like it’s a struggle to get out, to realise that your cousin, your best friend, is dying in front of you and they didn’t even tell you. The hurt tugs at Sakusa’s broken heart and he clumsily wipes his mouth before turning to press his face in the junction of Komori’s shoulder and neck.

There, Sakusa sobs.

  
“Who is it?”

Twenty minutes later, after Sakusa’s finished sobbing brokenly into Komori’s shoulder, and the two cousins are curled up on the couch again. This time, however, Sakusa’s head is pooled on Komori’s lap, Ena’s cracked pot still lying pathetically on the floor, dirt spreading everywhere. The plant still sprouted up as best as it could, and the sight of his beloved Ena only teased more tears from Sakusa.

Irrational emotions. Nothing more than that.

“C’mon, K’yoomi, you can tell me, okay?” Komori whispers, carding his hand through soft curls, painting the moonlit canvas of springy tendrils and tender waves with a comforting touch Sakusa hadn’t felt for a while. His chest tightens at the memory of who did this to him, who caused him to lay pitifully on a bathroom floor, and it’s almost enough to keep his silence forever.

The pinch to his side shocks the name out of his mouth, however.

“Atsumu.”

It’s shameful, and Kiyoomi immediately buries his face in Komori’s knees and wishes for someone to just take him out of his misery now, but then he feels his cousin’s hand stroke down to his back and there’s a whispered “ _i’m sorry,_ ” and it hurts almost as much as the first time Sakusa coughed up a petal _._

  
_(“I’ll see you later,” Komori’s saying as he tugs his shoes on at the door, Sakusa behind him with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “I’ll pick up some stuff for you, too — what do you want?”_

_“A new pot and some potting soil.”_

_“I hope that plant dies on you one day.”)_

  
It comes and goes, the burden of being in love. Some days it’s like a weight dragging Sakusa further down, choking him with every metre they drop, and he doesn’t know when he’ll hit the ground but he knows it will be painful. It’s days like these that if Sakusa can help it, he will stay in bed for as long as he can. A small trash can sits at his head, catching the bile and the flowers as it leaves him, only easily—digestible foods and a bottle of water known to him those days. His phone turns off, he has to drag himself to practice if only to suffer through the hours, and sometimes Komori has to shakily open his phone and manage a steady “ _i’m sorry, sakusa’s come down with an awful case of the stomach flu,_ ” to a worried Meian.

Some days, it’s fine. Just fine. No days are ever good anymore, but when the day is fine, Sakusa is happy. The coughing is few and far in between, and Sakusa can pretend that for a day, he’s not being punished for loving someone so wholly and so purely. These days, Sakusa talks to Ena quietly, now in a new pot and safe from the inevitability of death. These days, Sakusa lets his Spotify play quietly through the house as he cleans, scrubbing every inch of the bad days away. These days, Sakusa makes sure to put an extra—nasty spin on his spikes and watch as it careens into the opposite side like a cannon.

Atsumu still gives him a thumbs—up from afar, still cheers _“omi—omi—omi!”_ and still gives him sets that feels like it could be a confession.

Bad days usually follow fine days.

* * *

The next person to find out is someone Sakusa never wanted to know.

He’d made the mistake of heading out to grab some groceries from the nearest store, mask fastened tightly and gloves snapped on. Sakusa had been in desperate need of some more bleach, some fresh vegetables, some soups for the days he can barely keep anything down, and a new brush.

He got everything. He also ended up waiting outside a quaint café, groceries hanging from his arms, as Ushijima Wakatoshi bought two takeaway coffees for them in an attempt to finally catch up.

“Kiyoomi, here.” Sakusa shifts some bags to his other arm as he takes the coffee — a long black, simple and clarifying — from Ushijima’s offered hand, nodding a small thanks in return.

“We can sit in my car, if you’d like? It’s parked under a nice tree by the nearby park; it’s clean as always,” Ushijima offers, and Sakusa knows full well he said that because he knew Sakusa would agree. Ushijima’s apartment, Ushijima’s car, Ushijima … he has always impressed Sakusa with his cleanliness and order, and he hasn’t stopped yet.

Soon, Sakusa’s sitting in Ushijima’s passenger seat as they both sip their coffees, his groceries safely in the back and protected from the heat of the outside. Sakusa can feel his chest itch faintly with a familiar sensation, instead sipping down more coffee and willing it away.

“How have you been, Kiyoomi?” _Dying. I’m dying and it’s all Miya Atsumu’s fault_.

“I’m fine, Wakatoshi—kun. My plant’s pot broke, but Motoya bought me a new one.”

Ushijima nods sagely — he knows full well of the plant, Sakusa recollects, because it’s the only plant he owns, and it was given to him by Ushijima.

“That’s nice.” _It is. It’s nice to know that I can save one thing, at least._

Sakusa falls silent as he sips his coffee again, his chest still itching faintly, but Ushijima’s deep timbre rumbles through the car again and his attention is drawn once more.

“I’ve been really interested in this new book, I think you’d appreciate it. I actually saw it advertised in one of Tsutomu’s mangas, something that Satori had given him, no doubt. I went and bought it last week, and I’m already …”

Sakusa lets Ushijima talk steadily about the new book, enjoying not having to carry the conversation for once. It was something that tended to swap whenever the two met up; some days Sakusa would be talking a mile—a—minute about something that had happened, or a podcast he thought Ushijima would enjoy, and some days it would be Ushijima who carried the torch.

It’s relaxing enough for Sakusa to finally lean against the seat and let his body droop, sinking against clean leather, coffee a calm warm and comforting in his grasp. Ushijima reverberates throughout the car, calming the storm inside Sakusa’s stomach, tempering the tempest inside his brain.

Peace is never forever, Sakusa is reminded of time and time again.

Pain erupts in Sakusa’s chest and he suddenly shoots up with a hacking cough, before doubling over and heaving onto Ushijima’s car floor. The coffee spills all over his legs and trickles down into his shoes, not hot enough to burn but enough to sting and hurt. Sakusa doesn’t register Ushijima’s reaction amidst his spluttering as coffee and petals splash across the carpeting, but then there’s a large hand on his back, rubbing comfortingly, and all it does is coax more out of Sakusa until he’s left empty, slumping against his knees and catching his breath.

“Kiyoomi,” Ushijima’s soft voice cuts through the silence, before Sakusa feels a strong grip easing him up and against the seat. “May I take you back to my place? I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.”

All Sakusa can do is nod weakly, coughing again and watching the object of his nightmares flutter down onto his lap. Ushijima starts the car.

* * *

“I know someone who had hanahaki,” Ushijima opens with as he settles Sakusa into his couch, much nicer than Sakusa’s own. His apartment is as clean and orderly as always, and the soft blanket rushes over Sakusa and gently encases him with something akin to a loving touch.

Maybe he’s being emotional, again.

“Know, as in present tense, Wakatoshi—kun?” Sakusa cringes internally as he asks, knowing it sounds as insensitive as it really is, but Ushijima just smiles and nods as he sits down at Sakusa’s feet.

“Yes, he got the surgery and he’s still thriving today.” Sakusa wracks his brain for who he knows that Ushijima also knows, thinking of any of them could’ve gone through this living hell. His brow must furrow, as Ushijima leans over to gently smooth it out. He’d always been a caring friend, no matter how stoic and intimidating he could also be. Sakusa had always known a caring friendship with him, adding to the reason why he treasures Ushijima so much.

“How — how did he make it through? How did he deal with the after effects?” Sakusa hates how pitiful he sounds, how whiny and small, but Ushijima doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls out his phone and sends off a quick text.

“You can ask him yourself, Kiyoomi; I texted him to come over. He said yes.”

  
Fifteen minutes later, and Sakusa did not expect Ushijima’s hanahaki-survivor friend to be Goshiki Tsutomu.

The young man — not that young, as he’s the same age as Sakusa himself — bursts through the door with all the energy Sakusa’s heard of. His bangs are an awkward, blocky shape, and he’s panting as if he’d ran all the way, but the smile he sends Sakusa and Ushijima is blinding.

He reminds Sakusa of Hinata.

“Ushijima—san!” Goshiki moves over to slap Ushijima’s shoulder after toeing his shoes off, pulling his jacket off and carefully laying it over the back of a spare chair. “And Sakusa—san! It’s nice to see you outside of a volleyball court.”

Sakusa remembers playing Goshiki — he’s a strong player, and truly Ushijima’s protégé. He holds himself confidently, power and strength exuding from him with every move he makes. Sakusa can’t help but notice the softness to Ushijima’s eyes as he stares at the younger, but whether it’s like how Komori looks at him, or how Bokuto looks at Akashi, Sakusa cannot decipher yet.

“It’s nice to see you too, Goshiki—san,” Sakusa whispers quietly, all his voice can manage after the battering it took earlier. Goshiki sobers up at his words, seeming to remember why he was invited here

“Sakusa—san … do you want to hear about my experience?”

  
Sakusa thinks the world is a cruel place.

Goshiki’s story is sad, it breaks Sakusa down further, but then he looks at the young man in front of him and thinks that maybe the world is only cruel to build you up. Sakusa remembers the tremble in Goshiki’s voice as he talks about the sleepless nights of hiding his flower petals from his roommate, from his team. The fear no fifteen—year—old should have to go through permeating his entire existence. The flowers that had erupted from his chest when he’d finally sucked up the courage to confess to the one who’d caused it all for him, only to be let down as gently as he could.

Shirabu Kenjirou had never meant to hurt Goshiki, it wasn’t his fault that the boy he saw as a brother had seen him as something else.

Goshiki had collapsed that day in the gym, Shirabu’s panicked “ _COACH_!” the last thing he remembers before waking up in a hospital bed, his parents crying beside him, Coach Washijou sober and talking to one of the doctors. It turns out Goshiki had been put into emergency surgery after collapsing, flowers sprouting in his lungs rapidly after the rejection. It was a danger to those who risk confessing, something that can kill you just for daring to be brave.

“I’m fine now, though!” Goshiki assures Sakusa when he sees the other pale even further, eyes growing wet at the thought of trying to confess only to almost die because of it. “Kenji—san and I are best friends! I’m gonna be his best man at his wedding later this year.”

Sakusa nods slowly, imagining standing beside Atsumu at his wedding, seeing him marry someone else.The thought brings another round of wracking coughs through his system, hunching over and emptying petals all over the floor. Bile doesn’t follow this time, leaving his hands dry and his lips slick with only saliva, but Goshiki gets up slowly and crouches down in front of a trembling Sakusa.

“You’ll be fine, Sakusa—san,” Goshiki murmurs as he smiles, a comforting smile because Sakusa can tell he’s being honest. “You’ll figure out what to do, just like I did.”

Ushijima nods behind the other, squeezing Goshiki’s shoulder, before moving off to make some tea for Sakusa.

  
Sakusa heads home that day with a new number in his phone and a mind bank of all the times Ushijima smiled fondly at Goshiki, hoping that if his dear friend did feel the same for Goshiki the way Sakusa feels for Atsumu, that he won’t have to suffer the same fate.

Opening the door and Sakusa should’ve expected to see Komori there — not that Komori had said he was coming over, but this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. The sight of his parents, however, chills Sakusa down to his core, knowing that he still looked a mess from earlier today.

“Kiyoomi …” His dad’s voice cuts through the room, and it’s as sad as he looks. Komori holds his mom’s hand and squeezes it when she trains her own, wet eyes up to Sakusa, and something in him breaks.

“ _Mama_ —” Sakusa rushes forward and sinks down to bury his face in his mother’s lap, shoulders shaking with broken sobs, feeling her strong arms wrap around him and hold him tightly. Her face buries into his curls, tears soaking his scalp, and Sakusa registers his father crouching down beside him and wrapping an arm around him as well. 

It’s here that Sakusa finally crumbles, finally acknowledges that he is the orchestrator of his own demise, and he hadn’t even told his parents about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Sakusa’s words are constantly interrupted with tears, breathing shaky as he tries to inhale around his grief. There’s muted comforts from Komori as he joins the fray, stroking his shoulder with trembling fingers. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Kiyo,” his father murmurs against his ear, his mother and Komori breaking down around him. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, my son. We’re sorry for — for not being here for you. Can you forgive us?”

The painful twist in his chest, this time, is not from the flowers growing in his lungs.

* * *

It’s been a month since his first petal, and Sakusa thinks it’s finally turning a corner and getting worse after the party at Bokuto and Akaashi’s that he’d been forced to, when he’d sequestered himself in the bathroom to choke and splutter and realise he’s not getting any better. His breathing grows more laboured every day, his vision swims a lot more, he can barely stomach talking to Atsumu anymore. Sakusa manages to keep it from his coaches until his parents visit again and realise he’s still playing professionally.

_(“You’re going to kill yourself, Kiyoomi! You’re going to die, and it’ll happen faster because you’re still active!_

_Kiyoomi’s too afraid to say that he wants to die doing something he loves)_

The coaches stare sadly at him and give him the time off that he needs, telling him there will always be a spot for when he recovers.

When, not if. The faith in him is almost sickening.

The MSBY Black Jackals hear another reason, however. Sakusa stands there with a mask on as Coach Foster tells them Sakusa will be off for a few weeks due to health complications. Adriah’s stare is intense, and Sakusa breaks away at the same moment Hinata squawks and cries out a _”get better soon, omi-san!”_

“So, I won’t be settin’ to ya for a while, huh?” Atsumu’s voice is a tender thing to Sakusa now, something he hears so rarely in his attempts to slow the effects. Sakusa nods tightly, feeling his chest tense and grapple with the realisation that Atsumu is here, he is too close.

He misses him so much, though; Sakusa misses his teasing words that he’d call out as Sakusa stretches his wrists, or how he’d yell at Bokuto and then wink at Sakusa, or how —

Sakusa drags himself from his thoughts as he finishes grabbing his bag and whips around, smiling thinly at Atsumu.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, Miya. I’ll see you then.”

The realisation that he called him Miya instead of Atsumu settles in his chest, even if Atsumu has never heard his given name grace Sakusa’s lips, and Sakusa has to turn away and leave before his mouth leaks petals just as his eyes leak heartbreak.

* * *

Sakusa doesn’t want the surgery. 

He doesn’t want to forget Atsumu, he doesn’t want to forget how he makes his heart flutter when he smiles at him, or how he is so considerate of his boundaries despite constantly teasing him. Sakusa has always wanted to rest his head on Atsumu’s lap and let him run his fingers through his hair, to let Atsumu press kisses all over his face, all over his body, until there’s not an inch untouched by his love.

He gets mixed reactions from those who know — his parents want him to get the surgery now, to save himself and lose his love. Komori wants him to get the surgery, but he knows how much Atsumu means to him, so he quietly suggests to confess beforehand. Goshiki makes sure to tell him everything that happened in his confession, encased in Ushijima’s arms, and Sakusa learns that his best friend was lucky in love not once, but twice, when he sees the photo on Goshiki’s home screen with himself, Ushijima and Tendou Satori all curled up together. 

After that, Sakusa fights the ugly tendrils of jealousy and listens carefully to Goshiki. Goshiki has love now, and he survived this. Shouldn’t Sakusa be comforted by that?

But he’s not. Sakusa knows he has a support circle, he has friends who love him and he loves them, but insecurity claws at his throat and whispers poison down his ears.

_“You will never be loved. You will never be loved. You will never be loved again.”_

Sakusa loves Atsumu too much to forget him, which is why it’s two weeks later and he still hasn’t done anything other than throw up into his toilet and cry from the pain radiating through his body.

  
It’s Komori who finally draws a line in the sand, sliding Sakusa’s phone out of his hands one morning and opening it with a flourish. Sakusa’s too tired to do anything about it, having spent hours last night curled in Komori’s arms as he heaves flowers and bile over and over again.

“What are … you doing?” Sakusa finally asks when Komori throws the phone back down onto the couch, sitting on the floor and smiling sadly up at him.

“I’m helping you, K’yoomi. I’ll be here the entire time, so don’t feel scared, please? I won’t let you die.”

Sakusa doesn’t understand what he means until the doorbell rings twenty minutes later and Miya Atsumu walks through the door, face dropping at the sight of a pale Kiyoomi huddled on the couch, curled up against the arm, lips tinged red and fingers trembling in the blanket.

“Fuck, Omi?” Atsumu’s voice is hushed, terrified, and he moves to sink down next to the couch, not touching Sakusa but not too far away. “What happened, Omi? You look horrible; worse than the party, worse than when you came to the team. What … what’s going on?”

Atsumu turns to look at Komori, eyes flashing as he seems to hone in on his poor soul.

“What happened, Komori? Why is he like this?” Komori just shakes his head and stands up, moving to press a soft kiss to Sakusa’s head and leave to another room.

_(Komori knows Sakusa could actually die here; he can call the ambulance all he likes, but Sakusa could die here. He could lose his cousin, his family, today.)_

“Omi? Please … tell me? I thought we were friends …”

It’s the pain in Atsumu’s voice that finally breaks Sakusa, finally loosens his tongue and lets everything come out.

Everything being petals, instead of the words he planned to say.

Atsumu yells as he jumps back, Sakusa gasping as the petals flow from him like water, one hand grasping his throat as he feels it all collect before finally expelling, leaving him panting with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“ _Fuck_ — sorry, sorry,’ Sakusa apologises between sucking air down his battered throat, wiping his eyes and looking up to see Atsumu horrified.

“Who — who is it, Omi?” Atsumu whispers brokenly, and why does Sakusa see fear in his eyes? “Who’s hurting you so much?”

Sakusa doesn’t want to tell him, but then he remembers the pain of choking on the petals, on how it can all end here — he’ll confess, he’ll get rejected and then he’ll go the hospital and have surgery. 

“You, Miya Atsumu.”

Sakusa’s eyes shut tightly as soon as the words leave him, preparing for the pain to suddenly come and bulldoze over him like it did Goshiki. He waits for the petals to explode from him and cover his apartment, sprouting the evidence of his failed love all over, never to forget even when he forgets Atsumu’s face, Atsumu’s smile, Atsumu’s touch —

Atsumu, who’s currently sobbing into his shoulder, arms tightly around him, gasped words somehow translating into “ _oh fuck, oh god, thank god—_ ”

There’s no pain, and Sakusa’s eyes open to see Atsumu pull back with wet eyes and a large grin, even if it is tinged with sadness.

“I’m — I’m so sorry, Omi, I — _fuck_ , I should’ve told, told you, or — or noticed, or … and I was too afraid to say anything because I was scared of you saying — saying no, and I hadn’t — hadn’t realised it turned into _this_ for you, and —” Atsumu’s cut off from his rambling when Sakusa shakes his head, wide eyes meeting his wet ones.

“You … are you … not rejecting me?” Atsumu looks almost offended at that, hands trembling before he hovers them over Sakusa’s own. Sakusa meets him halfway and lets Atsumu thread their fingers together, a sob escaping the setter.

“Fuck, Omi—Omi, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu whispers, and he lets himself smile as he leans closer into Sakusa’s space. “I — I could never reject you. Not now, not ever.”

Sakusa feels something bloom in his chest, but it’s not flowers.

* * *

It takes a week for Sakusa to go back to normal, for the fatigue and sickness to leave him, for his breathing to become as strong and healthy as it was before, but it takes another week for his friends — everyone except Goshiki, anyway — to finally stop walking on eggshells around him. His siblings finally trek back to Tokyo and bury him in tight hugs, all three of his older sisters crying and holding their baby brother, their only brother, in their arms. Ushijima shamelessly pulls him into a hug as well, one Sakusa agrees to beforehand, and whispers how happy he is for him against his ear. Goshiki grins wildly and Sakusa lets him high-five him, lets this young man burrow into his life and firmly seat himself as a good friend. 

The coaches delight in having Sakusa back to play, but they delight even further at his good health. Adriah threatens to slap his shoulder and curses him for not telling him, and Meian just shakes his head and Sakusa knows he has to let the captain hug him. Hinata and Bokuto cheer when they see Atsumu holding Sakusa’s hand, still clinging to him even two weeks after Sakusa first confessed, afraid to let him go in case he withers away. The rest of the team congratulate Sakusa and finally let him rejoin the team, after the doctors have cleared him to play.

Life with Atsumu is the new norm now, and Sakusa thanks God every day that he was given this opportunity to finally love someone as much as he loves them. He gets to wake up and meet Atsumu at his door, he gets to hold his hand and kiss him softly when no one’s looking, and he gets to rest his head on his lap and let him card his fingers through his hair.

_“I’m sorry. I won’t leave you like that again. We’ll get through it all, and we’ll make it further. Alright, Omi?”_

Sakusa feels something blooming in his chest, and it’s pure, unadulterated love.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/nyoomis)!


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